Why You Should Never Fall in Love with the Same Person Twice: A Lesson in Letting Go

Never Fall in Love with the Same Person Twice

They say lightning never strikes the same place twice. I used to think love worked the same way. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… well, you know how the rest goes. But when it comes to love, logic tends to pack its bags and leave you for dead, doesn’t it?

I’ll admit it: I fell for the same person twice. And no, this isn’t one of those quirky romantic comedies where everyone ends up smiling and kissing in the rain. It’s more like that bittersweet indie movie where you cry at the end, staring blankly at the credits while questioning your life choices. Spoiler alert: the second time around wasn’t love—it was nostalgia wearing love’s cologne. Let me explain.

The First Fall: Pure, Messy Love

The first time I fell for him, it felt like the universe had conspired to make us happen. He was everything I didn’t know I wanted. You know the type—the kind of person who gets all your dumb jokes, sends you random playlists, and somehow makes sitting in traffic feel romantic.

We had that magic, the kind of chemistry that makes you feel invincible. Nights were spent talking about everything and nothing, mornings were filled with texts that made my heart race. We were the couple everyone low-key envied—at least, that’s how I saw it.

But love, real love, isn’t always smooth. It’s messy, chaotic, and somBut love, real love, isn’t always smooth. It’s messy, chaotic, and sometimes it hurts. We hit our share of rough patches. Petty arguments became recurring ones, and the things I once found endearing started to feel like quirks I had to endure. Still, when we broke up, it felt like someone had taken a wrecking ball to my chest. I wasn’t just heartbroken—I was soul-crushed. The kind of pain that makes you swear you’ll never love again.
The Memory Trap: Round Two
Fast forward a year. I was doing fine—or at least that’s what I told myself. I’d gotten into yoga, adopted a plant (it died, but it’s the thought that counts), and even started dating casually. But then, like the ghost of relationships past, he texted me.
“Hey, been thinking about you.”
Cue heart palpitations. Against my better judgment, we started talking. First, it was just a few casual texts. Then came the late-night phone calls, the “I miss us” messages, and before I knew it, I was standing at the edge of the cliff, ready to dive back in.
Here’s the thing: the second time wasn’t about him. It was about the memory of who we were. I didn’t love him—I loved the version of us that lived in my head. I missed the late-night drives, the laughter, the way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the room. But what I didn’t realize was that the second fall wasn’t a new chapter; it was a rerun of the same story. And we all know how reruns go: predictable, with no surprises.

Why It Doesn’t Work

Falling for the same person twice is like trying to reheat fries in the microwave. Sure, they’re still technically fries, but they’ll never taste as good as they did fresh out of the fryer. The spark that made it magical the first time just isn’t there anymore. Instead, you’re chasing a memory, hoping it’ll taste the same.

We tried to make it work. We revisited old haunts, replayed our greatest hits, and for a moment, it almost felt real. But the cracks started showing. The reasons we didn’t work the first time hadn’t disappeared; they were just hiding under the surface. Our arguments returned, our differences became glaringly obvious, and the magic I thought I was rekindling turned out to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

The Lesson: Loving the Present

I learned something valuable from this. Love isn’t about holding onto the past; it’s about being present in the now. The first time you fall in love, it’s raw, authentic, and new. The second time, it’s often just a desperate attempt to recreate a feeling that’s long gone. It’s not fair to you or the other person.

So, if you’re standing at the crossroads, debating whether to let that ex back into your life, here’s my advice: don’t. It’s not love you’re feeling—it’s the memory of love. And memories are tricky—they make you believe in things that no longer exist.

Instead, let yourself heal. Make space for new experiences, new people, and new love. Trust me, the fries are always better fresh.

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Marife Buenaflor

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